


A Cause Lost

by AcaelusAjasche, Trius



Category: Jimmy and The Pulsating Mass (Video Game)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Child Death, Coping, Gen, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 18:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17882711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcaelusAjasche/pseuds/AcaelusAjasche, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trius/pseuds/Trius
Summary: A fan epilogue to the game Jimmy and the Pulsating mass.





	1. Denial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Housereaping (Creator of Jimmy and the Pulsating Mass)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Housereaping+%28Creator+of+Jimmy+and+the+Pulsating+Mass%29).



The bell of the church echoed into the afternoon as faceless bodies crowded into its chambers. Hollow handshakes given to strangers and friends, words of comfort both given and forgotten, crocodile tears wasted on a pain not their own; Andrew sat there with his family, listening to the man at the pedestal speak nonsense about an unproven hypothetical second life. As the words drowned out into white noise, he looked past the man and what laid behind him. A casket carefully chosen, green with a little dinosaur on the inside, over the degradingly wide variety of choices he had to choose from. Time passed through him as he sat there, the subtle logic of such a careful choice having no meaning for a child mocked him. Especially one who was robbed of any joy that could have been had of his new, wooden bed.

Close friends of the family took the spot at the pedestal first to speak their peace. They spoke of hope, happy memories, god and his better place to be. _Nonsense,_ Andrew thought to himself, _There’s no better place for my son than home._ Time allowed Andrew his turn to speak, an entire monologue of which he rehearsed in his head until it was perfect. He stood, walking up to the stand, yet the dilation of time when he reached the last step caused his world to stop. It was the first time he had seen his son since that fateful day when the steady beeps of the heart monitor echoing in the empty, white room, turned into a deafening screech. The moment came back at him with an almost dream-like clarity. His wife’s wails, his eldest son’s screams of primal rage, and the single line he could remember through all the chaos.

“Time of death, 10:27 P.M.”

Deep down some part of him rejected the notion his son had even died, leaving him in an ignorant stupor as he stumbled through the days. This funeral had was just like any other, looked like every other he had been to. The shapes were all there, the patterns lined up perfectly, but at that moment his world that he had been holding onto so dearly had finally crumbled. Looking at his son, his chest stationary—a gift taken that Andrew had taken for granted—he reached out his arms out instinctively hoping his boy would do the same, ready to be picked up, only to end up empty-handed. His breath deepened, becoming heavier with each passing, and the realization hit him.

_His son is dead._

 

He stared at his hands, wet with sweat and trembling, realizing only now all the stories that will be left unread. Comprehending the fact that he will never see him become successful, or fail trying, and the laughter and cries that will be buried away with the casket. Andrew looked toward the sea of faces, and tried to compose himself… but his words caught in his throat. He promised his family—more so himself—that he would both walk into and out of the funeral strong, but just as he promised his son that he’d always protect him it was just another set of charming words that he couldn’t keep. The first breaking point was the tears. Second, the numbness that choked him from the neck up, broken by choking sobs and shudders. He clenched his teeth but he couldn’t keep it in. Finally, a cry of anguish that only a father who had outlived his child could have given resounded against the porcelain walls of the church. 

Andrew looked over to Helga during the car ride home, wanting to say something to his wife, to patch a heart as broken as his, yet sadly—in these recent times—he’d had truly realized how little he knew. If every problem had a solution, as he had been believed so diligently in the past, then what was the good of intelligence now that he had no answers at such a crucial moment. He couldn’t fix his son. He couldn’t fix his wife. He couldn’t even fix himself. Andrew glanced at the rearview mirror, glaring at his reject brother-in-law; Lars, sitting there in quiet solitude. He glanced in the other direction to see his eldest, or rather only, son Buck lingering by the grave. Like usual, he pretended to not hear the voice of his father even during a time as delicate as this, but Andrew lacked the energy to contest him. _If he wants to walk home,_ Andrew thought to himself _Then that’s his decision._

Arriving at the now unfamiliar house, Lars was the first to leave the car, moving with a haste to his step, subtly distancing himself from Andrew and his wife as quickly as he could. Andrew walked over to Helga’s side and opened the door for her, holding his hand out to help her stand. He could feel the tremble in her grip and helped her with each stumble in her step until she finally sat down on a chair in the dining room. _As much as I detest the ignoramus, he does have a way of making his sister smile in even the worst of times._

Andrew stood up, and looked in the kitchen, the usual spot he’d find Lars snacking his way through their pantry, finding it empty to his surprise. He walked up the stairway to find him in his other spot, diving deep into his computer, but as he walked the steps he noticed something unusual. Jimmy’s door was open, gritting his teeth, in a sudden burst of anger Andrew stomped his way into—what should have been—a sacred place.

There, he saw Lars, sitting on the floor, his back against Jimmy’s bed, with a contraption in his hand which he played ‘Video-Games’ which had already rotted his mind away and he even had the audacity to spread this to his own son. 

“What are you doing in Jimmy’s room?!” Andrew exclaimed at the man who sat there, never looking up at him. “This room is off limits, I don’t want you to touch anything in this room.”

Andrew stared down at Lars, keeping his head down like the coward he was, his eyes fixated on the screen. “Do you think Jimbo would be mad?” 

Andrew shook his head confused and adjusted his glasses.“What?” 

Lars finally looked up at Andrew, the bags of his eyes sagged heavily and his pupils glossy.

“If I played his save file, do you think Jimbo would get mad? He told me not to because he wanted to beat it himself, but I want to help Jimbo finish the game… But I don’t know it feels wrong. I just want to help him finish the game, but I don’t want to touch his save file because…” 

Lars stopped speaking, letting his voice fall silent, catatonic. Andrew, not knowing what to say or how to react, simply turned to leave but not before saying, “Just don’t touch anything else in here.”

Walking back down the stairs, Andrew could hear the noise emitting from the television. The sound is familiar, nostalgic even, and as he turns the corner, he sees his wife with a box half-empty of tissues on her lap, and a family film playing on the television. It was the time Jimmy went to the science fair with his father, showing off their carbon dating experiment while all the other kids were doing silly childish, generic, science fair experiments. Jimmy looked so proud on that day, his little paleontologist, winning 1st place all by himself. Well, at least that’s what Andrew told him. He took a seat next to his wife, and held her close with one arm. The two sat there in silent tears for a short while, only to be interrupted by a knocking at the door.

Two officers stood at the door, Buck in cuffs beside them banged up and bruised with blood leaking from his nose and knuckles. 

“Hello, this your son?” the officer stated, glancing over at the angry teen who struggled against the grip of the two grown men restraining his arms.

“It is, I’m sorry for the trouble officer, did he cause too much trouble?” Andrew asked, adjusting his glasses and trying to compose himself to look as professional as possible.

 

“He picked a fight with a few drunkards on the street, one of them had to be sent to the hospital, he should be fine and we can’t prove if it was in self-defense or not but this could escalate to a bigger issue.” The officer stated more sternly, practically puffing out his chest as if to show off his badge in intimidation.

Andrew looked towards his son as the officer continued speaking. “That is an issue, I’ll see that proper disciplinary action is taken,” then his gaze fixes back on the man in the police uniform. “He recently lost his brother to Glioblastoma multiforme, or to those less informed: a brain tumor. Being provoked in such a state would naturally cause a violent reaction. Especially if you consider that this incident occurred directly after his walk back from the funeral.”

The officer looked at the young man, who almost growled at him, looking over back at Andrew. He almost seemed to attempt to look over his shoulder, towards his crying wife, before he was cut off by Andrew stepping in front of his gaze. He could tell he was being sized up by the officer at that very moment, but he noticed the officer’s posture loosen. “Lost your kid, huh? That’s rough, I’m sorry to hear that. How old was he?”

“He entered the coma when he was eight years old.” Andrew takes a deep breath before continuing. “It was a long hard fight, but...” He paused, not wanting to even admit it to himself, but Buck spoke for him.

“Damn Punk wasn’t strong enough…” Like a sedated bull, Buck seemed to struggle less when admitting this statement, but it was clear the hostility could be back at any moment.

“I see. I’ll let you off with a warning then, just make sure this doesn’t happen again, alright? I’m, uh… sorry for your loss.” The officer nodded, signaling his partner with a nod of his head to let the kid go. As soon as they uncuffed him, Buck shoved his way through the officers. The head officer held his hand up, letting the other two know to back off.

“Thank you for your help, officer.” Andrew, giving a nod of his own, walked inside with his son and shut the door. Buck rubbed his wrist, gritting his teeth slightly at the pain. He took a step further into the house, only to be greeted by his mother with puffy—tear filled—eyes who wordlessly hugged him tightly. Andrew walked over with the first-aid kit in hand to tend to Buck’s wounds. He got shoved away by his son; however, when Helga stated “We can’t lose you too, Buck.” with a tone more pitiful than he could imagine his mother giving it caused him to simply look at the floor in shame.

“Okay, mom.” He muttered under his breath, unable to look his family in the eyes. Minutes passed, and as Andrew wrapped the last of the bandages over Buck’s wounds, he simply looked bored, as if to ask “Are you done?”

Andrew didn’t answer him. He simply closed the first aid kit, looking his son in the eyes before giving him a soft hug of his own. Andrew expected him to be given an insult, pushed away, but none of it came. While he didn’t hug back, he just sat there, accepting the hug for what it was. Andrew patted his son on the back twice as he stood upright and softly said, “Go to your room.”

“Whatever.” Buck huffed under his breath as he trudged up the stairs, his posture defeated. Watching his only son’s back fade up the stairs, Andrew turned the television off before walking Helga to the bedroom. Although he was at home with all of his family, he had never felt more alone in his life than he did that night.


	2. Anger

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Rest. This was the mantra Buck lived by, the cornerstone of his strength. Push heavyweights, aim for eight; surpass the number if you can and if you can do more than ten you need more weight. He wasn’t entirely sure when he started working out, but he definitely knew why: power, respect, and authority. As a young child he was a weakling, frail, and just like the runt of the litter he was he got picked on, teased, and prevented from doing anything he ever wanted. When a bully knocks you down, you get up and knock him down, but doing such an act without the muscle to back it up was a fool's errand. Luckily, Buck had the determination to remain steadfast with his training regimen. If anything, he felt more motivated than he usually did. 

After an hour of working out, his body insisted it was time for a break. Taking a seat on his bed, a towel draped carelessly over his neck, he took a glance into his room in the direction of his sandbag. But his gaze went beyond that until his eyes stopped on a poster. Freshly adjusted from its old spot to a new one, his eyes stay fixated on the poster. From this angle, he couldn't see it. No one could see it. The little hole in the solid foundation of the concrete wall. The one source of weakness. It sat there, staring him down though he had covered it, concealed it. It just… Glared at him, mocking him in his weakness. He could hear the unspoken words of challenge it spat at him and he flinched. 

For a moment, he could feel the urge to fight or flee as his adrenaline spiked. His breathing became panicked and he felt himself curl his fingers into a fist so tight he nearly drew his own blood. Before he could act on instinct a knock at the door pulled his attention away from his thoughts, drawing him back to reality. Buck turned his head to the door with a glare, acknowledging the voice that spoke from the other side. It was Lars. “Hey, uh, Buck?”

“What do you want, you ingrate.” Buck growled out, his words laced with acid as his unprovoked rage still lingered in his gut.

“Sis just finished with dinner and I just set the table so… come down if you want.” He walked away without waiting for a response. 

_What a failure._ Buck thought to himself with detest. _Fat fuck can barely look me in the eye anymore._

As Buck reached the bottom of the stairs he glanced over at the kitchen table, his expression turning into one of disappointment at what he saw. He looks over to Lars, still grabbing food from the kitchen and bringing it to the table. 

“Hey, fuck face!” Buck gritted out to Lars, his voice a harsh whisper, catching him like a deer in headlights. He looked over at Buck, the tension in the room thickening between the sole occupants. 

“Uh… yes? Is there something you need?” Lars’s eyes darted between Buck and the kitchen door; containing the only person in this house that can stand him anymore, Mom.

“You did it. Again.” His hand gestures to the extra set of plates on the table, a table for five with an empty chair. “It’s been three. Fucking. Months. Get your shit together.”

“Oh, I did?” Looking over to the empty plate, he hurriedly picks it up. “My bad. Sorry, Buck.”

“What are you apologizing to me for? It’s not me who cares, it’s mom. You don’t think she notices every time you make that mistake?” Buck cracked his knuckles, his words sounding into more of a growl than human speech. “Do it again, and I’ll bash your nose in.”

Almost on cue, Andrew stepped in from the front door, his umbrella drenched from the storm outside. A look on Lars’s face showed a sense of relief that he had never given Andrew before. They had their own share of conflicts but right now he was surely the lesser of two evils. Buck simply glanced back at Lars, and when Lars returned the look, he merely squinted his eyes to signify his point. Walking around the table and into the kitchen, Lars then went to see his mother. Her cooking, which once had more energy than the rocky horror picture show, was now humbled to simple monotony and repetition. Her eyes void of tears, not because she finished grieving over a lost child but because she ran out of tears to shed. Her trademark smile that could rival the sun was now dimmer in comparison and only lived for the moment of a flash upon her sullen expression.

“Need any help, mom?” Buck asked, his tone still harsh, but had a softer under layer to it to when he had confronted Lars. 

“No honey, but thank you. Lars had already set the table and grabbed most of the food, I’ll finish up the rest. Don’t you worry.” His mother’s voice was gentle, but its gentleness was not as he remembered. It didn’t come from the kindness of her soul as it once had, but rather the frailty of her heart. Buck nodded, almost dumbly, noticing himself becoming more of a burden with each passing moment. He took his seat at the table, Lars already seated. The two waited in silence for Helga and Andrew. His father exited the bedroom, wearing a fresh pair of clothes, no different than the drenched pair he had walked in with. Yet he still walked with a sag, as if the wet weight of his clothes were still dragging him down. 

He watched as his Mother walked from the kitchen to the table, dinner in hand, and as his Father gave her a simple kiss on her cheek. It was strange, Buck always got disgusted at his parent’s open display of intimacy, yet watching it devolve into nothing more than superficial perfunctory action made the air surrounding the family feel stale. 

Dinner went as it always did. He felt like he was watching another rerun of Groundhogs Day, except he was living it. The family sitting in a verbal prison which the only sounds allowed to break the mold were those coming from the forks on plates, and the clocks on the walls. Any conversation was snuffed out as fast as it started without room for continuation. It was the one thing he could give Lars any credit for, trying to keep the mood alive.

“Thanks for dinner, mom.” Buck exhaled, taking his plate back to the kitchen from the dinner which ended as uneventfully as it began. Walking past his family like he was passing mere strangers in a subway as they themselves walked into the kitchen, Buck stuck to his routine and took a seat on the couch. The living room quickly emptied as everyone went to their rooms, leaving Buck in a state of bleak solitude. He flipped through all the channels, finding a horror movie he could finally settle on. While everyone shied away from the things they used to enjoy with the little squirt, Buck took pride in the fact that he enjoyed the things they bonded over with together; giving some honor to his memory and the impact the dork made on his life.

Minutes turned into hours, the setting sun fading beyond the horizon, leaving nothing to light the room but the dim screen of the television. Just as Buck was to decide this would be another night he would sleep in front of the T.V, being too comfortable on the couch and would take the scolding from his father for concerns of the power bill in the morning, the prospect of movies seemed to lose his interest. Frustrated, he flipped through the channels until fatigue caught up to him. He turned the television off, feeling a light sting of pins and needles in his legs as he stood. The darkness in the house encroached in, shying away from their corners, his eyes unable to adjust as quickly as he had hoped. Stumbling in the darkness, he headed for the stairs.

His hand gripped the banister tight, looking up as the all-consuming darkness had left a wall of shadow; as if it were a gateway into the abyss; at the very top of the stairwell. The longer he stared at it, the more he felt as if it was staring back at him. The shadows on the walls seemed to cave in, every moment his arm brushed against the walls there was a chill that crawled its way through his skin and into his spine. It felt as if he were touched by the tips of nails from a Xenomorph he had seen on one of the late night Sci-Fi marathons. He shook his head, trying to rid his mind of the influence of the various movies he watched. They were beginning to blend into his reality. Each step seemed to take longer than the last, the shadows at the top never parting, as if his eyes simply refused to adjust. There started to feel like there were more steps than usual as if he had simply been walking in place for minutes on end.

Buck shook his head, his hand slapping himself in the face and stretching his skin as he let his hand drag down, pausing at his chin. _Get your shit together…_ Buck’s own voice seemed to echo in his own mind, almost insultingly. Before he knew it, he was at the top of the stairwell, staring at a closed door to a forgotten room. As he turned to the end of the hall, where his room rests, a noise broke the silence. With a screech, the door behind him creaked across the floorboards as he turned to notice the now ajar doorway. A look of tired frustration flashed across Buck’s face. 

_Who would be stupid enough to go in here in the middle of the night?_ Buck quickly threw the door open, the invading light scattering the darkness like insects, only to see an empty room with an open closet door. From it, a small object carelessly fell, hitting the floor with a resounding thud. Walking inside, Buck felt the air in the house blow past him; causing the door that was once flung open to shut. He leaned over to pick up the object, only to recognize it as that stupid bear Jimmy used to love watching on the T.V. that his grandmother had gotten him. The bear stared into him with its black beads, almost warm to the touch. Respectfully, Buck placed the bear back into the closet, where it belonged, closing the door and leaving the bedroom.

Looking down the hall towards his bedroom, he noticed his own bedroom’s door open. The uncertainty of his memory, whether he closed it behind him when he went down for dinner, left him confused and frustrated. His fatigue began to weigh down on him as he stomped down the hallway, passing by several doors along the way. Looking to his left, he noticed the door is still to Jimmy’s room, confused, he turns around to look down the way he came only to notice that he was truly at the end of the hall, and when he looked back at the door he stood in front of he finally could recognize it for the room it was. His room. _Get your shit together._ The words constantly echoed in his head. He opened the door and attempted to flip on the lights. 

The sound of the light switch was the only reward it gave, as no light blessed his dark prison. Rain from the outside hid most of the moonlight, except for one solitary object in his room. A poster, illuminated in a blue tint, which stared back at Buck, acting as if it had a pair of eyes that followed his every movement. Taking a seat on his bed, he pulled out his mixtape from his drawer. _Tonight would be a good night to fall asleep to some tunes._ Buck decided as he rested his back on his bed turning it on track 2. The tape ran for a moment, but it didn’t seem like any music was playing, just some strange scratching sounds and mechanical groans before something finally picked up.

“Let me hold him!” A strangely familiar voice spoke from the headset of his mixtape. “Let me hold Jimmy! I’m strong enough to hold him too!”  
Buck had never sat up so fast in his life, he felt like a zombie sitting up from the grave, his eyes wide open. He looked at his mixtape and quickly switched it to another song.

“Leave me alone. Like you know any better. What do you want me to do? What can I do?” The words echoed out. Buck quickly stood up and threw the mixtape across the room, watching it shatter. A ringing in his head bleeds out his thoughts, his heart pounding harder than any workout has ever led him to, his body heating up from the inside out.

“Stop looking at me like that.” The voice spoke again, muffled from the paper behind him. Buck quickly turned to face the poster, giving an ethereal glow from the moonlight’s presence. “I told you to leave me alone, the only one who can help you is you. You need to get stronger, that’s the only way you’re going to beat this.”

Stumbling backward, Buck caught his step before he tripped over his own feet. His fear and anger neck in neck for first place, both raising to levels he had never witnessed. His body sat there, trembling, unable to move due to the equal forces both pushing him forward to attack and backward to run. Drowning in the chemicals produced by his own brain, Buck tried to speak but his words were held back.

His throat clamped shut and cut off his words, his body paralyzed by something more than fear. A stinging sensation burns his hand, now sporting an open gash dripping blood onto the dirtied carpet. Then, he heard that infernal torture device once more. The beeping, the insufferable clock that virtually ticked away the lives it buries itself into. “Why couldn’t you be stronger?” The shudder in his own tone, wavering in fear and pain, echoes from behind the paper; however, it was at this point that Buck had enough. His entire face was burning hot, his teeth about to crack under the pressure of his own bite. 

His body lunged at the paper as he tears the paper apart with a single blow, his fist entering the cavity in the wall that he had made in frustration so long ago, a memorial to the meaninglessness of his strength. It entered the wall… Only to impact with flesh and bone. Buck’s hand reels back from, what should have been, an empty hole. Inside, a pair of very familiar eyes on a face of pure white. The unblinking eyes begged for his assistance, pleading his mercy, crying for his help. The pair of eyes given from a helpless child after being hand delivered their own death warrant. He waited for it to speak, to scream at him, to blame him… Yet no words came from the child. It simply looked at him from behind the border between this world and the next, helpless.

 

Buck trembled in a mixture of shame, fear, disgust, and anger; a mixture of emotions he would never show to any living creature. The mixtape letting out a loud screech, causing his ears to ring. His insecurities spiraled in on him, and even through closed eyes, the hole remained visible through the darkness of his own eyelids. Every moment his heart pounded, faster and harder, to the point where he could feel the blood in his body contest him; choke him; and just as Buck couldn’t take it anymore, he let out a cry of agony.

“THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!” Buck roared at the top of his lungs, only to find himself downstairs, sitting up on a couch, his scream chasing him into reality. It only took a few moments before his mother and father rushed out of the bedroom scared and confused.

“What happened, honey, is there something wrong, are you okay?!” Helga said with a fearful expression, looking around trying to find the exact cause that made her son scream. 

Buck wiped his face, finding more than simply sweat falling down from it. Taking a deep breath, his nose stuffed, Buck rubbed his head and eyes in a single motion. “It was… Just the movie.” To his disappointment, as he looked toward the television he realized his excuse fell on deaf ears as the television was off. His parents looked at each other, worried, but Buck interrupted them before they took their chance to speak.

“Whatever… I’m goin’ up to bed.” Turning as he stood, back facing his parents, a clammer resonated within the dark living room. The television turning on, the power button being hit upon its descent, filling the room abruptly with a bright light.

“You’ll never love...Anyone! As much as he loves you!” A child’s show echoed through the empty house. “You’ll never love… Anyone! As much as he loves you! And…”

 

Buck picks up the remote and stared directly at the screen, watching the early morning cartoon startup. “Think of all the fun things yo-” shutting the television off before the intro sequence could finish speaking, he tossed the remote back onto the couch.

 

“Buck, is there something you'd like to talk to us ab-” Andrew tried to speak up, concerned for his son, but was abruptly cut off by Buck’s modest outburst.

 

“Shut it, nerd, I’m tired.” Being as dismissive as he could be, Buck walked away from his parents in his stupor and stumbles up the stairs and into his room. Laying his back on the bed, he stared over the dresser, eyeing the mix-tape within its contents. His eyes stop on it for a desperate amount of time before he simply rolled over, opting to sleep in silence instead of screams.


	3. Bargaining

The wind blew in causing the curtains to dance and fall as the subtle hum of a computer's fan forever fighting an endless struggle to keep itself alive. An eerie—almost taunting— reflection of what has mocked the obese otaku who sat in the room containing the most yet meaning the least. Lars sat there, recounting in his head once again how it all went wrong. He tried getting an education, but the inability to interact and relate with his peers drove him away. He tried many things and took many paths, but in the end, everything he did made him feel hollow, empty. The only time he felt alive, took any real pleasure in living, was in his games and his shows. 

Real life was too much of an anomaly to Lars, and the only option he could take was to escape it. Lars was a man who relied solely on his mother for the longest time, only to shift his dependency to his only sister after her passing. He never intended to have a negative impact in the lives of those he cared about, to be the burden that he was, but that was the worth of a man who had no confidence in himself. Though aware of his own failings, he could never find the drive to take that step. Many others tried to provoke an effort out of him but inevitably found it to be a lost cause; however, all of that seemed to change when he moved in with his older sister, Helga.

For a while, it seemed like history had repeated itself. His sister’s husband scolded him for not being productive, just as his father did, and Helga coddled him, intervening and stepping in for him when his social affairs went awry; just as his mother did. Lars knew of his sister’s children, yet wasn’t sure how to take it when the youngest took such a liking to him. Suddenly, reality didn’t seem so difficult to live in.

Jimmy, or Jimbo as Lars fondly nicknamed him, looked up to Lars with his knack for video games and trivia show knowledge. Lars saw in Jimmy’s eyes that the various skills that others would have called useless, he found both fascinating and exciting. Having someone who appreciated him and his interests meant the world to him. They would play games for hours, sometimes past Jimmy’s bedtime if Helga would allow it, and eventually Lars took up watching him play the games on his own. Occasionally, he’d give his little friend tips and tricks to the challenges that he himself had completed so many times. And as time went on, Jimbo didn’t seem to need much of his help and so he simply enjoyed taking the backseat and watching him progress through the levels, simultaneously watching him grow.

 

The more time he spent with his little nephew, the more purpose he felt his life started to have. His niche use as a babysitter would seem insignificant to many, but to Lars, it felt like a breath of fresh air. Because of Jimmy, he didn't just feel better, but he felt as if he was treated better as well. Buck still threw his insults, but they seemed to carry an underlying charm with them rather than simply being said to rub his dignity through the dirt. Andrew, while still got on his case from time to time, was more inclined to let him do his own thing as long as he didn't interfere with Jimmy’s studies. 

Lars didn't think much of his own future, but the more he saw the little kid try the more he thought, _If Jimbo can do it, then maybe I can too._ The child had an aura that affected those around him, but as his innocence was struck down in youth it brought both a loss of inspiration and hope. As the first year of his death passed the need to escape the world hasn’t just become more powerful, but also more difficult. Games, shows, and online interactions that once used to be the sand that Lars stuck his head in when times were rough suddenly became meaningless.

After the first few months, Helga tried to pour all of her heart and resources into her only remaining son, Buck, who pushed aside her gifts and gestures in hopes that his mother would understand that the novelty of such items meant little to him. That was when Lars started to obtain more assistance from his older sister. Video games and anime boxes that he once desired became items on his shelves, and at first this eased the pain as he finally had a new outlet to drown the world out with; however, over time the gears that turned his coping mechanism would come to a screeching halt. Every game that he played, every show that he watched, started to lose their value.

No longer did he feel the drive to binge a marathon of shows from season to season as the minutes bled into hours. The games that sat on Lars’ shelf were either incomplete or still encased within their plastic wrapping. Every new experience felt empty, and every old experience that they shared hollow. Climaxes of shows left incomplete were gutted of any excitement they would have brought if the seat beside him weren’t empty. Now, most of his waking hours were spent laying in bed, missing what was.

Lars’ stomach rumbled. As he looked around his room he was disappointed to find his stash of snacks had depleted. The time was good for another snack run, as his sister was usually out at this time, Buck was probably working out, and Andrew was at work. He woke with a stretch, his body aching from bed sores, the strong winds from the open window blowing his unkempt hair in and out of his eyes. A rattling noise caught his attention, unable to see the cause but hearing the result it brought as a game from his shelf crash-landed on his carpet. 

As he picked up the game the horrific imagery on the cover reminded all too well of what the game was. A shooter, a game he bought with his allowance rather than asking Helga due to the nature of the game. The memory of playing games like this in the arcade with Jimmy and Buck rushed through his head, a somber reminder of what was. His trip through memory lane was interrupted by the muffled music lingering in the air from Buck’s room. The desire to relive those memories sparked a mote of courage in his heart, and despite his best interests, he walked toward the room.

Reaching the door, Lars froze in place just before he could knock on the door. He felt intimidated, almost frightened, at the prospect of bothering and aggravating Buck. The thought spiraled in his head until he came to the conclusion of _Why?_ Buck was family, just like everyone else, a rough around the edges but still the good hearted person that he grew to love too. Lars knew that, but something deep in his heart still made him feel uneasy, so he turned to walk away.

 _If Jimbo can do it, then maybe I can too._ The thought almost intruded his mind, stopping him from leaving. Lars swallowed his fear for a brief moment as he quickly turned around to face the door and knocked. Excluding the music, the noises in the room went silent, and then the doorknob twisted with the same intensity as Lars’ stomach did as the door opened.

“What do you want you disgusting fat fuck, can’t you see I’m busy?” Buck snarled as he wiped his face with an already damp towel.

“Uh, would you like to…” Lars tried to speak, but the music was so loud it swallowed his voice whole like a mouse in a snake’s den. He spoke once again, a spark of vigor in his tone as he attempted to have his voice be heard. “Would you like to hang out sometime? I… got this game and, uh… thought you’d like to try it with me?”

“Games are for nerds and losers.” Buck huffed, his eyes darting between Lars’s unstable gaze and the game in his hands. “Besides, we both know you’ve been begging mom for games like some kid, and I’m not touching anything bought with dirty money.”

Grimacing from the words which hit harder than any punch that Buck could have thrown, Lars chose his next words carefully. “I… yeah, you’re right, but it’s because it makes her smile you know? I just, I don’t know, I want her to smile like she used to. I feel like when she buys me a game it… makes her happy?” 

With a sigh and a shake of his head, he nudged the conversation elsewhere. “Besides, I bought this game myself. Sis wouldn’t want me to have a game like this, anyway. I’m no good at it myself, though, and I remembered you used to like playing games like this at the arcade when we hung out with Jimbo.”

Buck stared Lars down for a moment, then snatched the game from his hands. Walking into his room for a bit as he eyed the case in the light. Then, as suddenly as he took it, he tossed it back. “Whatever, I’ll think about it.”

Lars’ eyes shot open, almost sparkling, at the positive surprise that Buck just delivered as he scrambled to pick up the game he failed to catch. “Alright! Uh, I’m about to go grab some grub, would you like me to get you some snacks too?”

Buck scoffed at the gesture, rolling his eyes before he turned back to his room. “I watch what I put in my mouth, unlike your fat ass. Just- Get me a protein shake or something.”

“Okay.” Lars turned slowly and moved to walk down the stairs and into the kitchen. He placed the game on the game down as he grabbed various snack foods; the sensation of finally being able to enjoy something, to not feel alone, kindled a small bit of happiness in his heart. As he picked back up the game and stumbled out of the kitchen, barely able to hold everything in his hands, Lars misstepped and dropped the game case onto the floor. It clattered, crashed, and rolled away from him.

As he carefully bent down to pick it up, his hands missed the game. The pile of snacks in his arms had become so unwieldy that he consistently misjudged the distance of the game. To him, it was almost as if the game was playing a prank, dragging itself ever further with each and every attempt. When he finally caught up and held the game in his hands, he noticed where he stood; at the slightly opened doorway leading into his sister's and Andrew's bedroom. Lars knocked on the door with his feet, his hands too full to do the task. Without any answer, he took a peek inside only to notice his sister laying on her side on the bed staring endlessly at the wall.

Lars had seen this posture before and knew it all too well himself. Walking back to the kitchen he plopped down his food on the counter and walked back to the bedroom, opening the door slowly as he spoke. “Hey, sis, mind if I come in?”

“Oh, Lars, yes of course; come on in,” Helga spoke, not moving to even look over at her brother.

Lars walked on over and laid down on the opposite side of the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “...So, not going out today?”

“Not today, Lars, I’m not really in the mood to go out.” Her voice came with a staleness to it, leaving the room dry.

Lars took in a deep breath, his statements came out with additional uncertainty. “How long have you been sitting here like this?” 

“Quite some time, I suppose. If I were to be honest, I would say it’s been as long as I can remember.” the weight of Helga’s words was suffocating, coming out with such clarity it seemed as if that statement was a fact, not fiction.

“Oh… “ Lars and Helga stayed there for a moment in silence, neither of them moving or speaking. The room quiet enough to where the only things that could be heard were the muffled music from upstairs, and their own breathing. He wasn’t sure what to say, this wasn’t as easy as when he consoled her about their mother’s death. When his words finally found him, they seemed less for his sister and for himself. “...I wonder what mom would say right now.”

“Mother would likely say how Jimmy is in a better place, that he's waiting for us and he's watching over us.” A deep, draining, sigh floods the air, her body wavering as she spoke, though her tone stayed barren.

“Well… If that's true, I think Jimbo would be sad to see you like this.” Lars’s words caused Helga to take a deep breath, adjusting only slightly as if to bury herself deeper within the confines of her depression. 

“I don't want to talk about this right now, Lars.” Her words came with a stoicism that seemed inappropriate to the graceful nature she commonly exuded.

“But…” Lars paused, unsure if he should continue. He knew full well the emotional torment that his sister was enduring, but also knew she had suffered enough; if Helga wasn’t stopped on her path of self-destruction she may never recover. “... I think you have to, sis.”

The two sat in silence for a time, the ticking of the clock growing seemingly louder as time progressed. Both of them sat there, unmoving, for a time that felt immeasurable. Eventually, Lars sat up from the bed, and as he draped his legs off the side he let out everything he wanted to be known. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want, sis, but I feel like you need to find someone to talk to. I don’t know, I could be wrong, but it seems like the right thing to do. Maybe Andrew would know better, he’s smarter than I am, but all I know is… Jimbo wouldn’t want you to be like this.”

Lars sat there, waiting for something, but nothing came. Helga simply laid there, caged in her own misery, unable to escape the confines of her own self-destructive ways. With a sigh, he got up to leave, but as he reached the door he spoke out his final thoughts. "I wish there something else I could do, sis. Something more. But.. if there is something I can do for Jimbo I think I have to at least try, and right now... I think he'd want us to be happy. So... that's what I'm gonna try to do, for his sake."


	4. Depression

The words spoken by her younger brother echoed in her mind and soul, resonating with her in ways she didn’t want to admit. That night, when Andrew got home, she sat her husband down so they could have a serious discussion about her future, their future. If she was going to go back to the way she was in days past, to survive the pain that was festering in her heart, she was going to need help. She could see in Andrew’s eyes that he didn’t have a direct answer to this, but his resourcefulness shined strong as in only a few days he had managed to find a suitable therapist for grief counseling. 

Even though Helga wanted to help herself, help her family, the process was slow and painful. Early sessions ended as they begun, with Helga laying on her side speaking quietly asking questions that had no answer, but as time progressed the direction began to shift. The counselor assured her that the obsessive behavior that she has endured, helpless feelings, was merely the second step in the five stages of rebuilding a shattered life; however, accepting help and trying to slowly accept a new reality was showing a positive shift towards the third step of adapting to the new life. Eventually, Andrew joined in on the sessions, as the two headed towards a path of recovery.

Helga began to incorporate a couple of small rituals to their family life, such as preparing Jimmy’s favorite meals on special days of Jimmy’s life and always bringing flowers to his grave as a family on his birthday. She compiled a family photo album including only pictures with Jimmy in them, took more frequent trips to the beach he loved, and took all of his most important trinkets and locked them in a heart-shaped chest just large enough to fit them. Everyone in the family saw the small changes in Helga, every small improvement a milestone in her rebirth from the ashes of anguish, and chipped in to help in their own special way. Lars did what he did best, listen, while Buck ended opened up more to her in isolation, admitting to smaller—more emotional—things while still keeping his thug-like facade. 

Her mood improved, her smile came back, and the family seemed whole again; however, these changes were only skin deep. Her smile, while showing a brightness like it used to, didn’t have the purity it once had. While it seemed counterintuitive, Helga never wanted to fully recover from the death of her son. To fully recover would be to never feel that pain in her heart any longer, but to forget it is to is to also abandon—if not insult—the memory of her son. This was a reality she would never accept. 

The torture was proof of the love she will always hold for him. A place in her heart that could never be replaced, a fracture in her world that will forever remain a barren wasteland. While outsiders may have been fooled by this, the family was not. They knew of her suffering and carried a piece of their own with them as well; causing a family which was once held together by a bond of mutual love now to be held together by an even tighter bond of shared pain.

Years began to pass like minutes, causing each and every shared moment between her and her family to become more and more cherished. Watching her son Buck grow from a young man into an adult was just as rewarding as she had hoped, but watching him leave in order to live his own life was equally as agonizing. Lars’s departure was both a welcome and heart-wrenching surprise. Helga believed he was going to stick around forever, but as the internet grew in popularity and his gaming channel on the new video platform became a big hit he managed to find himself a like-minded individual to start his own family with. Before she knew it, she was in her golden years with her husband; the only person to remain by her side until the very end, hanging onto life only due to the potency of modern medicines and vitamins.

Family visits did come often enough, Buck more frequently than Lars as his unhealthy lifestyle and old age finally caught up to him which caused traveling to become difficult. Visits from Lars were like taking a step back in time, to moments more peaceful and simple, while every visit from Buck was magical as she got to experience what it felt to be a grandmother. Although the visits were erratic, the family always managed to get together once at least once a year; the date shifted from Jimmy’s birthday to Christmas for convenience. Flowers meant for the dead child slowly shifted away from the grave site and onto his picture frame, dwindling over time from a bouquet to a single flower.

Regardless of the fact that one should enjoy their days more as they creep closer to the end, Helga always felt that heaven was so far away. In her lowest moments, she’d always go over to her bed and pull out the lockbox and would indulge her depression. Feeling the softness of the small plush with her fingertips, rubbing her hand on a long forgotten hat, a simple picture of her in her youth holding her little boy. All of these treasures rested underneath an old piece of parchment with a song engraved onto it. A final lullaby for a child that forever slept in his wooden prison; the final tragic song written by a loving songbird whose last lyrics were reduced to a requiem, crafted only for the two of them to see.

Helga knew such an act took away from the years she spent learning how to cope. She had gained much in life, yet she still chained herself to the past. A desire to forget the past that refused to forget her overwhelmed her thoughts, like a sickness, pulling her deeper into the lockbox. A scar that never closed, a mind stuck in what was rather than what is, lost in a fog of regret.

“Gramma?” A small voice spoke out, wisping Helga back to reality.

“Oh…is it time already?” she looked over to the young child, closing the chest and locking it tight before placing it back under her mattress. “Sorry honey, I didn’t hear you come in.”

 

He tilted his head and walked on over to her, taking a sneak peek under the sheets as he does so. “What was that? Can I see?”

“It’s just… something very special to me.” Giving him a pat on the head, Helga leans on the bed in order to stand, causing him to try and help her stabilize.

Looking up, he notices the single tear being shed. “Why you crying, Gramma, are you okay? Are you sad? Did I do something bad?”

A deep, exhausting, sigh escapes her frail frame, leaving her physically and emotionally winded. “No, dear, it’s just… I’m very tired.”

His face lit up as if he had the answer to an impossible question. “You should go to sleep! That’s what I do when I’m tired!”

“I’m tired in, well, a different way.” Helga pauses, trying to find the words where even a child could understand the meaning, but fails to find them. “It’s… hard to explain, I’m sorry.”

“I saw you put a teddy bear in that box, do you still sleep with teddy bears Gramma?” 

The innocent question froze Helga in place, she wasn’t sure what to say, but she could tell that the child was waiting for an answer. “It’s… not mine, it belonged to someone very special to me.”

“Was it daddy’s?” The youngster giggled at the mere idea. “Daddy said he’d never sleep with a baby toy!”

An empty chuckle was all that she could give back to him. “It wasn’t Buck’s, it belonged to my other son.”

“Oh!” looking around, he tried to find a picture of the person they talked about, but to no avail. “Where are they, I haven’t seen them. Even at Christmas! Is he nice? Is he strong like dad is?”

“He was strong… in his heart,” Helga poked at the child’s chest, causing a tickled giggle. “but he’s not with us now. He passed away a long time ago.”

Guilt filled his expression to the brim, understanding now the consequences of his persistent questioning. “Oh… I’m sorry Gramma.”

“It’s alright, honey, you don’t have to feel bad. It happened a long time ago.”

“Well… why are you still sad about it?”

“Because there’s never a day that goes by that I don’t think about him. Losing him was like… feeling the most painful thing you could imagine multiplied by a thousand; only to be stuffed into a giant ball of cotton and buried deep within your heart.”

The child stood there, dumbfounded, trying to grasp the sheer magnitude of the statement given, but his efforts proved fruitless. “...Didn’t you get better?”

“No, honey, you never get better from it; you simply endure it for as long as you live.”

“Is that why you’re tired?”

Helga’s face took to one of clear discomfort, not wishing to speak such heavy words to a young child any longer when a familiar voice was heard coming from the doorway. It was Buck. “Hey, junior, are you buggin’ your grandma?”

He looked over, his eyes wide open and mouth slightly agape, only for Helga to step in. “No, Buck, they were just helping me to my feet.”

Buck stepped into the room, his expression changing quickly from annoyance to concern. “Are you sick? Do you want me to call the doctor?

A kind smile grew back on Helga’s face as she waved her hand dismissively at her son. “I’m alright, dear, just the effects of old age is all. I’ll be out in just a minute, don’t you worry, how about you go check on your father? He should be upstairs.”

Buck nodded and stepped out as his mother commanded. The child looking back, the look in his eyes wordlessly thanking her. Helga put her index finger to her lip, shushing the child. “Let’s not talk about this to anyone else. Today is a special day after all because it’s another day I get to spend with you. We don’t need to ruin such a special day with sad stories, alright honey?”

Nodding with a smile, the young child took their grandmother’s hand and walked with them out of the room of empty memories and into the living room to enjoy the creation of new ones.


	5. Acceptance

The unseen force behind the universe's unending procession is a double-edged blade. It is both a precious gift and a terrible curse. To those who can grasp the universes fickle nature it is a boon; allowing them to live fully until the last grain of sand falls, for others the endless procession of time is a heavy chain dragging them towards their only reward; death.

Just as the second hand on the clock winded through one circulation of its endless cycle, time slowly ebbed away the life of a woman, whose final seconds ticked away in a bed of memories. A widow, whose bond of love and vows was only broken by the promised parting through death. She was the last surviving member of her family, alone and adrift after her brother's passing. Left orphaned by her brother’s careless decisions regarding his health, Helga was grateful for her only remaining son—the only sign of her legacy as her tenuous grasp on life slipped through her fingers.

As her whole family had perished, their lives prolonged unnaturally by machines, these memories alone had Helga insisting that her death would be as natural as possible and within the comfort of her own home surrounded by more pleasant memories. Even as his mothers suffering continued, Buck understood but it still pained him to honor the wish. But in honoring her wishes knew that it would not be without repercussions. At her bedside stood only two people: Buck, her son which had always kept a watchful eye out for her health, and Gabe, the nurse that had quickly become a close friend.

Gabe did his best, but his medical expertise was limited and with his resources—it quickly became apparent that modern medicine could only carry a body so far, as Helga had witnessed firsthand with her husband. As her nurse, he pleaded desperately for her to go a hospital; however, every request he made was dismissed as Helga stubbornly refused to leave her home. Seeing her pride was unwavering, Gabe submitted to her will; just as her son had long ago.

Though Gabe was a joy to have as her caretaker, it was not what Helga wanted, even if it was better than sitting in an empty house waiting for death; there were times she would wonder how her own mother had survived through that lonely, bitter time. The clock ticked through the empty house, leaving Helga counting the minutes until the next visit from her son and grandchild. Uncomfortable with the amount of time Helga spent by herself, Buck made it a point to make frequent visits. As time passed her condition worsened, eventually robbing Helga of her independence. Buck decided that he would move back in with her, to keep her company and ensure that his mother’s remaining days would be comfortable. While having to send money back to his spouse while being away from his own family was not the most ideal situation, rather it was one he chose to endure in order to spend what little time she had left with him.

In the first few days, having her son back home helped Helga regain her strength and self-confidence that the passage of time had stolen from her; this eventually waned as the months progressed with her body becoming weaker with each passing. Though she was free from the shackles of technology prolonging her life, it was not without consequence as her growing fragility caused each movement to become not only a chore but a punishment. Simple movements, a wave of the hand or even a step brought waves of agonizing pain—forcing Helga to retreat to the safety and comfort of her bed. In order to give her some measure of independence back; Buck had purchased her an electric wheelchair, even going as far as carrying her upstairs, but soon even that small act became too much for her. 

Every day felt like stepping into a minefield for Buck as his mother only sunk deeper into the abyss, hesitant to take that first step into the room as if he feared a landmine would go off. Every day he took that step, he breathed out a sigh in relief as he found her as he had left her, sound asleep to the rhythm of her heartbeat. She slept through most of her remaining days. The late mornings that she did spend awake were short-lived, only enough to finish a small meal and entertain a light conversation before she fell back into the darkness. Now, it was Buck’s turn to treasure every small moment; every opportunity he managed to hold in his hands before she, too, fell through his fingertips. Working overtime, Gabe tried his best to keep her as stable as possible, but science wasn’t magic, there were boundaries not even the most skilled of doctors could pass. Eventually, the small tools available showed her vitals had faded to a point of near undetectability.

“Without proper equipment,” Gabe started, his tone heavy with the severity of his following words, “She'll be dead within the hour. So, if this what she truly wants, spend what little time you have with her wisely.”

Buck just stood there, his voice mute as he slowly recovered from the shock of the blow, not wanting to accept the reality for what it was. Eventually, he took to her side and held her hand for both her comfort and his own; her small, calloused, and cold hands engulfed in his large palms. His words came out raspy and empty as he spoke, hands trembling lightly and betraying the strength he wanted to give, for her and himself. “... Hey mom, how ya feelin’?”

A moment passed with no response, sending fear through his very core until Helga finally stirred one last time allowing him to exhale the breath he didn’t know he had held in. Her words were nothing more than a whisper. “Buck? Is that you, dear? It’s good to see you.”

“It's good to see you too, mom.” His words came out as gentle as hers; the coarseness in his heart smoothed over, if only for the moment. “You need me to get you anything?”

“I have all that I need right here... My loving, baby boy.” 

Reflexively, Buck looked away before he wiped his eyes in a preemptive attempt to stop the tears, a few escaping down the curves of his cheeks. Helga noticed but said nothing. “Well, don't worry, I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

As the two spoke, a chill slowly began to overtake the room. Coming in from the silent vents, though Buck felt as if the air blew right through him. He looked to Gabe, his expression and tone displaying his annoyance. “Hey, what do you think am I paying you for? To freeze the house solid? Get off your ass and make this room more comfortable for her.”

Buck pulled the cover closer to his mother's neck, gently tucking her in, overly cautious of his own hands. She was much smaller than he remembered. “Here, the room’s gettin’ chilly, this should help.”

“I… don't feel very cold… but thank you… honey.” Each word that came from her was a struggle, each breath sour and each swallow scratched the walls as they went down. Despite it all, Helga smiled as she looked at her son in the eyes for the last time. “I remember when I used to tuck you in like this… My, where has the time gone…”

Buck couldn't bring himself to respond to such a statement. Losing his father was difficult, but manageable, experience. He thought he would be able to handle his mother's death the same way, but the pain going through him was only a pain he had ever felt once before, a long time ago. “Is there something you want me to play, mom? A show, some music, a-an old movie?”

“I've had enough noise in my life, Buck. I am… content with the silence. Your voice is all… I need.”

A frown consumed his expression, forcing itself to be known. “Guess asking you if you changed your mind about going to the hospital is a bad idea, then.”

“Take it from me, Buck. Watching someone die is… worse than them dying. I wouldn't get better… I would stay just like this… for a while longer. I'm not sick, I'm old, and there's no… medicine for that. Just know, that I leave this world…with you in my heart.”

The density in the room sunk—as a ship would at sea—which caused the chill in the room to fester and mutate to a level where Buck could swear he saw his own breath. He turned to the angry mumbling nurse, sweating from the heat as they raised the heat even further to meet an unreasonable standard. The bumps on his skin, the chill in his bones, seemed a curse only meant for him. For a moment, he felt a kinship with the cold; understanding it, as the world itself mourned the death of a gentle star.

“I love you too, mom.” The smile that Buck struggled to form crumbled. He leaned over and gave his mother a gentle kiss on her forehead, his final goodbye. 

Helga leaned her head back, her body too weak to hold it up any longer. Just as her eyes started to close, her head shifted towards her hand, which laid alone on the opposite side of Buck. Her eyes opened once again, her mouth slightly agape, as her body tried to convey the shock as much as it could while it ran on its final fumes. Buck tried to see where she was looking, or what she was looking at but saw nothing but an empty hand. 

As he looked back at her, he then noticed tears welling up in her eyes. Her expression softened, then she smiled. A smile that Buck thought long dead, a smile he hasn't seen since his youth, one that both lit up the room and hushed away the cold. With her dying gasp, the sun which had burnt out so long ago flickered back to life. The flame in her eyes rekindled through fogged windows as her soul poked out its head for one last encore.

“Mom?” Buck called out, but there was no answer. She simply looked away from him, towards the emptiness, with a fondness he couldn't understand. He watched as her hand slowly moved up, cupping the air and holding it like a cluster of dandelions. Her thumb gently swiped across the air, feeling something that never was, as she spoke one last time. 

“You don't need to cry anymore, honey… mommy’s here.”

Helga’s hand gently fell to her side, and with it came a soft and tender exhale. A star finally spent, exploding with a light in death as beautiful as the one she showed in life; displaying a captivating supernova which fiercely lit up an otherwise dark sky. As if the curse had been lifted, her final breath filled the room with a warmth that dispelled the haunting; lingering; chill that choked the air. The devastating pain which should be felt washed away by an invisible, unknowable, embrace. One which filled the whole room with a sort of hope, of love, that broke the boundaries of life and death.

The cosmic forces mixed and swirled into one another as the bitter cold and gentle warmth shifted back and forth until a balance was achieved, and just as suddenly as it had happened the room had entered an empty equilibrium. Helga’s body laid there, a white dwarf of her former self, taking a well-deserved rest for the remainder of eternity. On her face still remained the smile of days past, one that she showed in her purest and happiest days when the family was still whole; now permanently painted on her face as a mural to the happiness that she brought others. Unlike so many times before, the screeching of heart monitors took no part in interrupting this passing.

Gently, the thick layer of air in the house blew away as if were merely sand on the beach. The collective weight that had given such pressure to the lives of those in the house lifted all at once, in a single moment, as if the spirit of the house itself followed her into the afterlife. Then, as sudden as it all had happened, the feeling in the room subsided which left the room quiet and hollow; yet, the woes of the world seemed to refuse to crash inward. A domain of emotional turmoil neutralized by compassion which still emitted itself from her graceful form, even in death. 

He placed the hand he held on her chest, and grabbed the other and did the same; as he did he noticed her other hand was as cold as the air that once permeated the room. Looking up towards the sky outside the window, he saw the sun shining brighter than it had ever shined in his life. As Buck then looked at his mother, tears forcing their way through without relent, he couldn't help but smile with her. Through a choked voice, he spoke a final request to the heavens itself.

“You better take care of mom while I'm still alive, short stack, or you’re gonna get a pounding when I get there.”


End file.
